


The Hunt For Perfection

by Defira



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Birthday Presents, Gen, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very belated birthday/Christmas gift for the very lovely kitiara, who has an ongoing obsession with my Garrett Hawke. Hence he got to flail about in his delightful manner for her amusement- and now all of you can enjoy it too!</p><p><3</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt For Perfection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KitiaraM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitiaraM/gifts).



“I’m an idiot.”

Varric looked up from his morning papers and scoffed. “No argument here.”

Garrett twisted around from where he lay sprawled face first against the hefty stone table in Varric’s room. He glared at the dwarf in question, who didn’t seem at all perturbed that a six foot four human had just traipsed through his door and hurled himself dramatically across his furniture. “What, that’s it? No questioning my sanity, no digging around to uncover what sordid tale lies behind my melodramatic entrance? Where’s your curiosity? Where’s that keen sense of adventure and mischief that I love so well? Just ‘ _yes, you’re an idiot’_?”

“Oh, beg pardon- no argument here, now get off my table. Was that better?”

“Wretch,” Garrett muttered, levering himself upright and throwing himself moodily into one of the chairs. “You are completely unhelpful.”

Varric chuckled, propping both feet up on the table and taking another mouthful of the questionable looking omelette that was trying to pass as breakfast food. “Perhaps I’m just in a contrary mood for once. Plus it’s not every morning I get to be harassed by the mighty Hightown Hawke before we even make it to midday.”

Garrett scowled at him. “If that name sticks, I will have to murder you and hide your body in that quarry just outside town.”

“Tied your hands, have I?”

“Absolutely. It breaks my heart, Varric, but I’m afraid I must- reputation to maintain and whatnot.”

They looked at each other for a moment before bursting into fits of laughter. Varric wiped his eyes, before pushing away the plate of dubious breakfast offerings, and leaning back in his chair. “Alright then, you’ve piqued my interest. Spill- what could possibly have the mighty-”

“If you call me Hightown Hawke again, I will do something unspeakable to Bianca. I won’t tell you what it is, but I may have a portrait commissioned of the event, to celebrate our illicit love affair.”

“What could possibly have you in such a dither?” he finished with a smile. “And don’t flatter yourself, Hawke, you’re not Bianca’s type.”

Garrett slumped down on the table again, hiding his head in his arms. “I need your help,” he said, the words muffled by his arms.

“Well, that seems like a given,” Varric said, eyeing him in amusement. “Care to explain what you need help with? Other than acting lessons”

Garrett turned his head up from the table. “Buying a present.”

Varric raised his eyebrows, a calculating look appearing in his eyes. “I’m gonna need more than that, Hawke. Buying a present for whom?”

He sat up abruptly, running his hands through his hair in what seemed like a panic. “I’ve been looking for weeks, and nothing seems right, and it shouldn’t be this hard, it’s just a present but it has to be perfect, or else she’ll-”

“Hawke!” Varric had to laugh at the dismal expression on the other man’s face. “Who are we buying the perfect present for?”

“For Mother of course. Who else?”

“Leandra? Why are you in such a tither about buying a present for your mother? Done something wrong have you?”

Garrett looked at him as if he were touched. “Why in the Void would you just assume I’ve done something wrong? And that I would need to fall back on _gifts_ to charm my way out of any hypothetical trouble?” He sounded grievously insulted by the mere suggestion.

Varric sighed and rolled his eyes. “Hawke, this is _you_ we’re talking about. Subtle is not a word that jumps to mind when one considers your approach to ladies- and that includes your mother.”

Garrett stared stonily at him for a moment. “For your information, it is Mother’s Name Day tomorrow, and I am most certainly _not_ in _trouble_.” He sneered the word. “I am, after all, the favoured son- I restored our family’s honour, won back her childhood home, elevated her to a lifestyle that she deserves, I stopped the dog from sleeping on her bed-”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”

“Varric!” Garrett made a scandalised face. “You keep your filthy senses away from my arse! I told you no the first time- and no means no serah!”

The dwarf sighed melodramatically. “And so you break my heart again and push me back into Bianca’s arms,” he said sadly. “So, your wretched rejection of my suite aside, why are you telling me about your desperate need to buy your mother a present?”

Garrett swung around, face suddenly serious as he dragged the stone chair across the floor; Varric winced at the scrape and whine of the floorboards protesting the changing weight. “It’s her Name Day,” he said, “and you’re not to let on that I told you that. She’s reached that certain point in her life where ladies stop discussing their age, so she doesn’t want a fuss made.”

“Again, you’re telling me this why?”

“Because I need your help,” Garrett said, somewhat desperately. “I’ve never… Bethany _always_ used to buy the gifts. Or make them, I don’t know. It was some sort of vexing female magic, she always remembered dates and ages and exactly what sort of sweets or colours people liked, and it was always just… _there_ , in the morning, on Name Day. She’d hand something to me and Carver, pat us on the head and send us off to deliver our gifts as if we were clever enough to have concocted them ourselves.”

Varric shifted uncomfortably. “Hawke…” he began.

Garrett didn’t let him continue. “And now she’s in the Gallows, and the only reason I even _remembered_ that it was mother’s Name Day was because she wrote me yesterday, and that’s completely unfair of her to leave it so last minute because what in the Void am I supposed to do on such short notice?” Varric didn’t know that he’d ever heard Garrett Hawke babble before, but this qualified quite easily. “And I can’t bollocks this up, because I’m the only one she has left, and I know she apologised for what she said about Carver, and I know she doesn’t blame me for him, or for Bethany being taken away, but fuck if I don’t panic about it sometimes, wondering if maybe she did mean it. And I know I gave her the big house and the fancy title again, but a Name Day present has to be perfect, you know? And-”

“Ancestors, Hawke, take a damn breath!”

Garrett’s mouth snapped audibly shut, but his eyes immediately grew enormous. His lip began to quiver.

“Oh, no. No, no, no. Don’t you use that look on me. It doesn’t work on dwarves, it’s a widely known fact-”

“But it’s her _Name Day_ ,” Garrett said pathetically, sticking his lip out further.

“And what exactly does that have to do with me?”

Garrett flopped dramatically onto the table top. “You know everything about everything, Varric,” he moaned petulantly. “Surely you know the best place to look for gifts? Or maybe… what gift to buy altogether?”

Varric pushed away from the table and very pointedly walked over to his bedchamber and drew the curtain. Garrett hesitated for a long moment before calling “So, is that a yes, and you’re just getting dressed now? Or have you got an excellent present squirrelled away in there already?”

“I’m not doing this Hawke,” Varric called from the other side of the curtain. “You’re a grown man; you can damn well buy a present for your own mother.”

There was a scuffling sound, and when Varric glanced over there was a familiar bearded head poking _under_ the curtain. “Pleeeeease?” Garrett said wheedlingly.

Varric stared at him, the ridiculous spectacle of a man the size of Hawke lying on the floor of the Hanged Man at ten o’clock in the morning, begging someone else to buy a present for him. “Can’t make this shit up,” he muttered, before throwing his hands up in the air in surrender. “Fine! Will you stop complaining and leave me alone if I do this?”

“Vaaaarric, you’re my favourite dwarf _ever!_ ” More scuffling noises, and Hawke’s head disappeared from view, only for the curtain to be ripped aside a moment later. Hawke surged through the space and scooped him up into his arms, dancing him out into the main room, ignoring the squawked protests. “I will have bards compose great epics of you, Varric, the paragon of manliness and chest hair, saviour of-”

“Shut up! I said I’d do this, there’s no need for anyone to ever, _ever_ know about it. Now put me down!”

Garrett eagerly complied, dumping him back on the ground almost too quickly. “So, what, this will take like ten minutes, right? You know exactly where to look, right?”

“I can’t believe I’m taking a grown man shopping,” Varric muttered under his breath, pointedly ignoring him. He picked up Bianca’s leather harness and pulled it over his head, slipping the crossbow into place on his back.

“At least I’m not asking you to lead me about by the hand,” Garrett quipped. “You know, with my sad puppy eyes, and my quivering lip, and my-”

“By the Stone, Hawke, enough! I’m sure the image does wonderful things to all your little girlfriends around the city but I’m quite frankly decidedly uninterested in your puppy eyes.”

***

The sun was shining brightly on the market square, the fountain bubbling merrily and the vendors hawking their wares loudly to the passing crowds. Varric would have enjoyed it normally, the ebb and flow of commerce so familiar to him that it was like an external heartbeat, a song that sang to him as he stood and simply absorbed the trade going on around him.

Beside him, Garrett was fidgeting quite noticeably, almost bouncing from one foot to the other in his impatience. He was almost like a child, so markedly different from the bombastic, ruthless warrior who had slain a dragon and a Rock Wraith in the Deep Roads that it was comical.

Varric sighed. Best get on with it then.

“Jewellery,” Varric said, gesturing to the ornate stand in the centre of the marketplace. The baubles and trinkets glittered in the morning sun, a clutter of young women giggling behind their fans and gloved hands as the two of them passed by. “Every lady loves jewellery.”

“Isn’t that a little clichéd?” Garrett said reluctantly, eyeing the stand with no small amount of apprehension as Varric led him forward.

Varric winked at the young ladies, eliciting a number of titters, before stepping up to peruse the trinkets on display. “Look at this one,” he said, holding up a jewel on a silver chain. The moonstone glowed softly in the sunlight, misty and intriguing. “Leandra has silver eyes- give her this with some florid poetry about how it can never compare to the glorious beauty of her soulful eyes.”

“ _Varric._ ” At Hawke’s pained voice, he glanced over his shoulder at him. Garrett was rubbing the back of his neck and looking exceedingly awkward. “This is my _mother_ we’re talking about! I can’t write _poetry_ about my _mother_. Plus… _poetry_. Me. _Really?_ ”

The dwarf chuckled and tossed the necklace back on the stand. “What was I thinking- this from the man who can’t even form complete sentences.”

The next stall hardly produced better results, Hawke reluctantly admitting that a silk scarf might be appropriate- but it was so _boring_ , and surely there were more exciting gifts to be found?

A newly commissioned gown from the finest tailor in Hightown? Was Varric trying to make him the most hated son in history?

A stylish hat from the milliner? Garrett couldn’t think of anything more excruciatingly uncreative.

Sweets from the confectioners? He had no idea what she even liked, or if she even liked sweets!

“Aren’t there usually bowls of candy all the way through the house?” Varric asked incredulously at the last confession.

Garrett had the decency to flush and look a little uncomfortable. “Well, yes, but… I assumed someone bought them for me to eat. Or Sandal. Anyway, I empty a bowl and it gets filled up again, so I always thought they were buying them for me.”

“By the Stone, Hawke, you’re twenty-six years old- how can you know nothing about your mother at all?”

The day progressed from bad to worse; Garrett became more petulant as the hours dragged by without success and Varric simply gritted his teeth and kept at it. He owed Hawke many things, his life among them, but his patience was very soon going to be revoked.

They even ventured down to the Black Emporium, and Varric stood awkwardly to the side, smiling thinly as the desiccated corpse in the centre of the room wheezed and chuckled. Garrett answered tersely as Xenon queried his search, digging through the piles of trash and treasures, scowling as nothing amongst the trinkets and antiquities proved _perfect_.

It became apparent at some point during the day that Garrett was not so much in search of a gift as he was in search of a sign, a physical manifestation of his own worth as a son. Surely if Bethany could provide such ample gifts year after year, it should be no trouble for him to find a single gift, one gift to show he was just as thoughtful and just as savvy and just as caring as his other siblings? The frustration suddenly made sense, the out of character anxiety that had ruled him throughout the day and made him a thoroughly unpleasant shopping partner.

Varric looked at him in a new light, after that. And pondered an idea that began to form in the back of his mind. When Garrett wasn’t looking, he called over one of the numerous urchins loitering on the edge of the market and penned a quick note, offering it to him with a gold piece and explicit instructions as to what he was to do with it. By the time Garrett turned back to him, Varric was alone and smiling far too smugly.

“Here, kid.” He called him over to a table covered in gaudy little statuettes, the kind that the vendor assured them were genuine antiques from fallen dwarven cities, or godless cities on exotic islands far to the north, or secret elvhen ruins. All of them cheap and nasty imitations of things that wouldn’t be out of place in a tacky themed pub, or bordello. “Grab her this one- trust me, this one is a keeper.”

Garrett eyed the tiny Mabari statue with apprehension. “Really, Varric? That seems a little… I don’t know… gauche?”

Varric tsked him, putting the statue firmly in his hand and gesturing for him to pay the grateful vendor. “Not at all, my friend! Think about it- it’s thoughtful, it’s tasteful.” He only winced a little at telling that lie. “It’s a reminder of everything your family is- resilient, loyal, strong. It goes back to your Fereldan roots, reminds her of home a little. But, at the same time, it fits in well with all the other delightful-” _horrific,_ “statues that you already have up in the manor. This one, however, is small enough to sit on her bedside table, forever there to remind her of your well thought out gesture, the way you honour and remember your whole family.”

The warrior stared pensively down at the stone dog, rolling it back and forth in his hand before sighing. “You’re right,” he said moodily, “and it’s too late to keep shopping. It’ll have to do.”

He handed over the appropriate amount of coin and tossed the Mabari from hand to hand. “Well,” he said, “I suppose I’d best go home, see if I can’t get this ready for tomorrow…”

“Nonsense, Hawke!” Varric threw a comradely arm around his waist, guiding him towards the immense staircase that wound down towards Lowtown. “We’ve had a great victory today! Certainly, it’s not quite the same as facing a dragon or a demon, but it calls for celebrations nonetheless. Join me for a few drinks.”

“Well…” The familiar smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth, the tension bleeding from his shoulders. He stood a little bit straighter. “I suppose I _have_ earned it.”

“Excellent!” He glanced out towards the harbour, curious to see if he’d catch a glimpse of one of the barges ferrying across to the Gallows. The water was clear, and he shrugged; time would tell. “My treat then.”

***

It was late in the afternoon when Garrett finally made his way back home, his desperate, last minute purchase clutched closely to his chest in the hope that it would hide it from view. He eased the front door open and peeked to make sure he was unobserved. The house was quiet, not even Rabbit visible at his regular haunt beside the fireplace. Grinning, Garrett slipped through the half open door and inched it closed behind him.

“Messere Hawke!” At the shout from Bodahn, Garrett immediately cussed under his breath. Trust his luck to end so close to the finish line. “I’m so glad you’re home, I was just about to head out to look for you. You have-”

He crossed the room with his head down, hoping that in not making eye contact he’d be able to get away cleanly. “Not now, Bodahn!” Garrett took the stairs two at a time, thundering up towards his room. Now he just had to work out how Bethany managed to make a present look so good when she wrapped it.

“Oh, but Messere Hawke, I must tell you! You have a-”

Garrett reached the landing and gritted his teeth. “Not now, Bodahn!” he yelled over his shoulder. “I need to…”

He slammed to a halt, his words trailing off as he stared at the figures seated on the landing above the main room.

Three familiar faces- two very dear to him, one not so- turned to him. “He was going to say you had a visitor,” Bethany said with a smile, coming to her feet and holding her hands out to him. “Hello, brother. It’s good to see you.”

Garrett simply gaped at her, and she laughed softly, the sound so familiar that it nearly broke his heart. “Beth?” he croaked.

She laughed again, and Garrett couldn’t hold it in anymore; in two strides he was across the space, scooping her up and twirling her about, laughing with her, crying with her, and it was like no time had passed at all, like it had been only yesterday that he had held her like this.

“Garrett,” she whispered, kissing him firmly on his cheek and laughing when she found tears there, “thank you for this. You have no idea what it means to mother… or to me.”

“I… what?”

And then Leandra was there, hugging him and kissing his other cheek. “My darling boy,” she said, her voice so very close to breaking, “you organised this?”

Garrett glanced past the two of them to the third person seated on the balcony; not a friend, not an ally, but sitting calmly in his house as if he belonged there. Cullen merely raised his eyebrows and said “How could I turn down such an eloquent request?” The words were snide, said with only the barest civility.

And then Cullen winked. Only slightly, hardly perceptible; but a wink nonetheless.

“I only have a few hours,” Bethany said, smiling so widely that Garrett was certain her face would crack from the pressure. “But that’s enough, that’s all we need.”

“Bodahn has already organised a dinner for us,” Leandra said, picking up seamlessly when Bethany stopped to take a breath. “And it’s a little last minute, so it’s not very fancy.”

“As if that matters, mother,” Bethany said, laughing while a new tear slipped down her cheek. “We could have bread and butter for dinner, and it would be the most wonderful feast imaginable.”

“I imagine that’s better than what they serve in the Gallows,” Garrett said archly, looking over their heads at the Knight Captain. Cullen spread his hands in a vaguely apologetic gesture, not mirrored in his expression.

“Leave Cul- the Knight Captain alone,” Bethany said; was he imagining the colour that danced across her cheeks just then, or was it just a result of the laughter and the tears? “It’s not like it’s his fault what they do or don’t serve us at dinner.”

The faint flash of guilt in his eyes before he looked away was enough to incriminate the Knight Captain more than Bethany seemed to realise. Garrett bit his tongue and chose not to say anything- if he needed to, he could take it up with Cullen at a later time. Right now, he had something precious, something perfect: for a few short hours he had his family back, what remained of it, and for now he was determined to make the most of it.

“Darling,” Leandra said, pulling away slightly, “what do you have in your hand? It’s digging right into my back.”

With a surge of horror, Garrett realised he was still clutching the hideous Mabari statue, the terrible gift that Varric had picked out for him. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, trying to tuck it behind his back before they could spot it. “It’s just something that I-”

“Oh, it’s a Mabari!” Bethany said.

He was ready to fling the stupid thing across the room; he could only hope it would shatter into a million tiny shards and free him from this humiliation. “It’s a door stop!” It was the first thing that came to mind, and he immediately could have knocked himself over the head for it.

“Darling, it’s wonderful.” Leandra prised it from his hand before he could stop her, the objection dying on his lips at her face. She was smiling so brightly, it didn’t seem right to try and apologise for such a horrific gift. “You went and bought this for me? All by yourself?”

Garrett flushed; he noticed Bethany’s wicked grin, and the smirk that played over Cullen’s face as he sat and watched their reunion. “I’m not a child, mother,” he said, probably a bit too snappish. “I’m quite capable of picking out a gift by myself.”

Well, no one needed to know it was a lie, right?

“And you did a marvellous job,” Leandra said, kissing him soundly on the cheek. “You brought us back together again, as a family. Even if it is only for a few hours. My dear, I could never have hoped for a more perfect gift.”


End file.
